Speed Dating or The Romantic Misadventures of Sarah and Jareth
by Whack-the-beetle
Summary: A sexually repressed heroine and a hero in his midlife crisis meet each other by accident at a speed dating event. What could possibly go wrong? Answer: Why, everything! Let's explore the murky depths of embarrasing failures in the department of love life, because haven't we all had enough of blissfully unrealistic smut?
1. Chapter 1

**I am back with yet another very silly and sarcastic concept.**  
 **This has been sitting on my computer for quite a while, and the sole reason for posting it is that I can not make any progress with some of the more serious projects I am working on.**

 **Ever feel frustrated with the sickenly sweet and invariably good sex the protagonists of our stories have (as in contrast to your own love life)?**  
 **Do you experience a feeling of aggression and a strong urge to roll your eyes when Sarah experiences her umpteenth orgasm and you privately think to yourself that she should be lucky to have even one?**

 **Well, in this case this might just be the story for you. A story where everyone brags and nothing works. Enjoy!**  
 **(Don't hold me responsible for the silliness, and embarassing stories of romantic encounters gone completely wrong of your own experience are highly appreciated as inspiration).**  
 **Note that the story will have to be moved to the category M later on...**

* * *

Sarah Williams pushed her way through the throng of people crowding the little shelter at the bus stop and surveyed the unfamiliar street where she had gotten off the bus.  
After a moment of squinting through the unpleasant drizzle, she spotted the building she was looking for.

It was a grey, blocky and distinctly dull concrete affair with a dingy little entrance. A chipped metal sign next to the door announced that the dating agency "Matchmakers" could be found within on the second floor.  
After contemplating the cheesy loopy writing on it for a moment, she squared her shoulders and opened the smeared and stained glass door.

'Well, here we are', she thought to herself upon entering the dimly lit nondescript room on the second floor. The décor was slightly outdated, consisting of cheap wood-imitate tables arranged in the middle of the room and garishly orange plastic chairs grouped around them. The carpet was a revolting mushy-pee green colour and the whole room smelt musty and stale.  
Lovely.

Some of the other 'guests' had already arrived and were currently standing unobtrusively against the walls, the cheerful whistle of one of the guys being the only sound that broke the otherwise strained silence.  
Sarah confidently strode up to them and found her own place against the wall, looking for all the world as if she belonged here and knew exactly what she was doing.  
She let her hair fall into her face and surreptitiously eyed the other attendees of tonight's speed-dating party.

If the ambience had already put a damper on her enthusiasm for this little adventure, it was nothing compared to some of the available candidates her trained eyes quickly assessed and categorized.  
Seriously, a good half of them were so repulsive that it was downright scary.  
Ample bellies in too tight t-shirts lined up next to impossible hairstyles, and she suspected she could smell one guy's sweaty armpits from across the room.

It had been a stupid idea from the beginning and the only reason she did not walk straight back out again was that she had promised her friend to give it a try.

She remembered how her best friend Myra had wheedled her into displaying her wares on this sad little meat market.  
"Oh come on Sarah! It's fun, nothing too serious and all totally laid-back and casual, just the thing you need now. And you know, if you don't like the one guy, it's over in five minutes and _zoop_ – the next one comes. It's great really, you should try it!"

Sarah snorted.  
Yeah right, laid-back and casual, just the very things she wasn't and that was exactly why Myra had suggested this in the first place.  
Why was everyone insisting that she was too tense, too orderly and too set in her ways? In her opinion she was doing just fine, thank you very much.  
And since when was it a bad thing to have a well-organized mind and a spotlessly clean flat?  
No need to accuse her of obsessive-compulsive disorder because of that.

True, she had had a spot of trouble in the romance department lately and, if truth be told, some guys even went as far as to call her repressed, but then again it was not her fault if their performance in bed was about as exciting as a cultured bridge tournament for the over sixty years old.

But Myra had been adamant. "Just relax Sarah and go with the flow. You will see it will do you good. Flirt, have a few dates and maybe a good…"

Sarah had rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get the gist, no need to get overly detailed. I will try but don't expect it to be a big success!"  
And so here she was, determined to keep her promise and show everyone that Sarah Williams could be very spontaneous and relaxed indeed, if she wanted to.

Just as she was contemplating possible ways to get out of the ordeal without breaking her promise, the door opened again.  
The first thing she saw were a pair of bad-ass motorcycle boots that encased slim but toned legs, shown-off to their best advantage in a pair of _very_ tight leather pants.

Well hello! Maybe the evening turned out to be not a complete waste of time after all. She let her gaze travel further up and finally arrested her eyes on his face.  
Oh fuck. 

* * *

Jareth was just about to kick-start his motorcycle for the third time when a lorry rushed past, spraying him with the contents of the deep puddle that had formed in the pothole- riddled street.  
He cursed. Why in the name of the gods did he have to choose a motorbike with a kick-start mechanism?!  
Oh right. It had seemed a good idea at the time, much more manly and impressive. Just turning the key in the ignition was for pansies, everyone could do that after all.

The motorcycle was his newest fad and he greatly enjoyed the exhilarating speed combined with the vicious, growling noises from the engine.  
He was getting pretty good at riding it too – he had fallen over only twice today.  
Luckily both times had happened in little frequented side streets, and the second time he suspected he might just have managed to make it look like a completely deliberate stunt rather than the clumsy and inept fumbling of a total beginner.

The downsides of the motorcycle were of course that one was continuously exposed to the elements and the terrible helmet hair marring his usually pristine looks. But no worries, nothing a little magic couldn't fix.  
The kick-start on the other hand was starting to seriously piss him off. Had he been back in his own realm, he would have bogged it long ago.

After the seventh trial the blasted thing could finally bring itself to roar to life and Jareth lost no time to put it into gear and putter further down the street.  
When he reached his goal, he parked the bike ostentatiously for everyone to see right in front of the door of the depressing concrete eyesore he was headed for.

He was, as usual, fashionably late and he fully intended to make a grand entrance, as it befitted the king of the goblins.

Speed-dating was the second hobbyhorse Jareth had recently acquired and he had quickly grown very fond of the curious little mortal invention.  
It certainly had greatly improved his general mood and was far more effective against the occasional bouts of depression he was so prone to lately than the goblin-made tonics his house physician had insisted on shoving down his throat.

The truth was that he had not been quite himself for a while now. He felt washed-out, grey and nothing seemed to be as exciting as it once was.  
The ever-same antics of his goblins annoyed him more than they amused him these days and his everyday routine bored the pants off him.  
Sometimes it seemed that everything had been said and done just too many times and he was doomed to experience an endless loop of repeating the repetition.

His temper had grown even more unpredictable and explosive of late and the goblins had quickly learned to scurry out of his way when he strode down the corridors like Darth Vader with a serious case of diarrhea.  
But not even bogging was half the fun it used to be, and on many days Jareth could simply not see the point of his whole existence anymore.

Worse yet, his general dysphoria had even begun to permeate his love life.  
It seemed that nothing wanted to work anymore with his bodily functions - either every form of cooperation was denied to him in the first place, or then he was too early or could not finish at all. It was beyond frustrating.  
Not that he was lacking variety in that department – quite the contrary- but the perpetual string of capricious and demanding fae women was starting to wear him out.  
He had grown heartily tired of them all and feared that he might be losing his edge.

Finally, he had voiced some of his concerns and problems to a good and trustworthy friend of his – and had gotten an answer that was as unpleasant as it was surprising.  
"Honestly Jareth, I think you are merely experiencing an attack of mid-life crisis. Nothing to worry about, just go out and take your mind off things. Try something new for a change and you will see things we will back to normal in a jiffy."

Mid-life crisis? Him?  
Ridiculous! Something like mid-life crisis had no business existing in a being that was supposedly immortal, it did not make any sense.

But what to do then?  
As the king of the goblins he could not very well walk into the office of the next best shrink and tell the poor person about his trouble with the goblins and the insatiable appetites of the garden-variety fae woman.

He had instead heeded his friend's advice and taken an extended leave Aboveground.  
The first thing he had done there was buying the massive, chrome-laden monster machine that was currently attracting curious stares from the passers-by on the sidewalk.  
His hunting grounds had of course also been relocated to the Aboveground together with his extensive wardrobe and the rest of his belongings.  
Dating mortal women would be his chosen distraction and he had no doubt that he would excel in the new sport.

To his chagrin though, he came to realize rather quickly that sitting on his motorbike and flashing jaunty smiles in the direction of passing women was apparently not enough anymore to impress said females.  
More often than not he had been simply ignored and a few times he had earned himself annoyed glares, eye-rolling and the occasional muttered 'show-off'.

He had therefore abandoned this strategy and searched instead for another easy way to get in contact with mortal women when he found a little newspaper add that immediately caught his interest.  
Speed-dating – it sounded like the perfect solution to his problems.  
Uncomplicated, anonymous and, most importantly, quick.

However, the first speed-dating event he attended had taught him that the picture was less rosy than it had appeared from afar.  
It transpired that only the very bilgy dregs of the dating pool would be hopeless enough to try and acquire a partner via this market.

To Jareth this mattered very little – on the contrary, the more desperate and guileless the candidates, the easier his game.  
It had been such a boost to his self-esteem.  
As soon as he entered the location, the assembled wallflowers would swoon at his very sight by the dozens and fall for him hook, line and sinker.

It was not surprising therefore that Jareth entered the seedy room on the second floor with a distinct swagger.  
He overlooked the new terrain regally, satisfied that the present company was yet again not fit to hold a candle to him, when his roaming eyes fell on a woman standing closest to the door.

His mouth fell open.  
Well, let him be damned if this wasn't little Sarah Williams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks very much for reading and following, and of course for your kind reviews and thoughts on this!**

 **Now, just a word in advance before you reproach me for it.  
I am a very nice person actually (most of the times at least), and so not generally in the habit of bitching about other people's looks. Not too much at any rate...**

* * *

Oh god. No. Nonononono.  
This could not be happening!  
How could it possibly be that she would run into the Goblin King after ten years of strict non-contact policy in this sorry excuse for a dating agency?!

Of all the places she had ever imagined she could meet him again (and she had occasionally, if only secretly and bashfully), this was certainly the saddest and most mortifying option.  
Instead of encountering her in a trendy place, surrounded by laughing friends, he saw her now rubbing shoulders with desperate old spinsters and obese men in their mid-forties who still lived with their mothers.  
It was the total apocalypse of every good impression.

It was nearly as cripplingly embarrassing as when she had come across her next-door neighbour in a sex shop while handing over the largest dildo they stocked to the cashier – notabene the model 'King-Kong XXL' no less - complete with dainty pink wrapping and glittery writing that cheerfully announced to 'move the stars for every woman'.  
Maybe that had been the reason she had bought it in the first place.

At second thought though, today was even worse.  
In the sex shop she had at least been able to talk her way out of the situation by claiming that she was buying the monster dildo as a present for a friend.

Was there a possibility of escape? Preferably before she had to explain her presence at this funeral of every good taste to the freaking Goblin King?  
Her eyes shifted surreptitiously to the door behind his back.  
Nope, no such luck. He was standing in front of the door, and she would have to walk right past him to get out.

She was aware that he was staring at her.  
Ok Sarah, she mentally told herself, let's look at our options here. You have already ruled out an uncontrolled and undignified retreat, so you will just have to weather out the storm. Just think of what your former boss has told you, 'hold your head high and your voice steady, even if you feel that the shits are already running down your legs'.  
Well, he hadn't been one for subtlety, but at least he had taught her to keep her countenance in situations of stress.

Assuming her most assertive don't-fuck-with-me expression, she finally looked up and met his gaze.  
Of course, the bastard was smirking at her. And upon noticing her glare, his insufferably arrogant smile became even wider, showing an impossible amount of teeth and conveying to her instantly that she was in trouble.

Suddenly option one didn't sound so bad in hindsight.  
She saw him opening his mouth, no doubt to let loose with a scathingly sarcastic and mocking statement, but she was rescued in the last moment by the host of their humble little soiree.

The jarring screech of a badly configured microphone made everyone in attendance wince.  
"Hi there boys and girls, my name is Al, and I welcome you to tonight's speed-dating party!"  
More screeching, followed up by a few deafening crackles as the guy adjusted the microphone on the tawdry mint green lapels of his suit.  
"Jolly good. So many bright and happy faces here tonight, and I have no doubt that we will have a merry evening together!" he went on all chipper to the point of painful over-excitement.

Sarah seriously doubted this at this point.  
Craning her neck, she could make him out standing in the middle of the assembled lost causes. He was short with tufty brownish hair and rather large front teeth, and was currently bouncing up and down his heels maniacally like a chipmunk on speed.

He beamed at all of them through the bizarrely large and thick glasses he wore. "Well, let's not waste any more time. You all know the rules, I take it?"  
A quick glance around the room yielded a few half-hearted nods, but he seemed to be satisfied with it. "It's five minutes, and at the ring of the bell, dong-di-dong, off you go to the next one, simple and easy, you see?"  
He looked at them hopefully as if expecting praise for having come up with such an ingenious concept.  
Sarah rolled her eyes – honestly you would think they were a bunch of kindergarteners here, not a desperate group of romantically handicapped middle-agers.

"So, off you go, I say. Boys on one side and girls on the other, naturally!" He wriggled his eyebrows in what he obviously thought was a salacious way.

But Sarah didn't need telling twice.  
As soon as he had made his announcement she had scuttled off to the farthest possible chair from the entrance, and near enough wrestling it from the hands of the scandalized looking woman in her forties, who still dressed up as if it was the eighties, she sat down with a small sigh of relief.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see the Goblin King confidently strutting over to the only available seat right next to the door. She also didn't miss the delighted expression on the face of his partner (a gloomy girl in her mid-twenties, covered from head to toe in tattoos and sporting a rather impressive set of piercings on her face).

She couldn't suppress a gleeful little grin at the sight, and then turned her attention to her counterpart.  
Her face fell immediately - it was sweaty armpits, and up so close the smell could have knocked out an elephant.

The bell rang and he was off.  
He mournfully mumbled out his life's story into his unkempt and overgrown beard, twisting and untwisting his sausage-like fingers in front of him while speaking.  
Sarah wasn't paying any particular attention to the contents of his monologue; she was too busy holding her breath and keeping a firm grip on her handbag in case what was nesting inside that jungle of a beard decided to come forth and attack her.

Luckily for her she obviously wasn't required to reply to any of his effusions, and before she even had had time to inject so much as 'Hi, my name is Sarah' the bell already rang again.

Sarah gave him an apologetic smile that she hoped didn't reveal too much of her relief and quickly slid over to the next chair.

Well, let's say it didn't get any better.  
Bernie was the prototype of the ivory-towered academic and sexually retarded mummy's boy. Probably in his late thirties, he could already boast of a remarkable frontal baldness, and dressed himself in clothes even her grandpa would have called unstylish.  
He was nice enough though, and after quickly establishing that Bernie had not idea what to say whatsoever, she entertained him with mindless banter, eliciting delighted blush after blush on his pasty face.

It went from bad to worse, and next she had to face Juan, an American of Mexican origin with his own business trading cars, as he had lost no time in informing her. He was somewhere in his forties, short and showing all the signs of a once athletic body enjoying good food and the occasional tequila rather too much.  
He was downright creepy.  
Smiling blissfully at her as if Christmas and Easter had come early this year, he kept on smoothing his already slicked back and oily hair in place while leering unabashedly at her cleavage.

Ding.  
Next one.  
Sarah took a deep breath and plastered huge fake smile on her face.  
Her brain had set itself into stress-induced autopilot mode about five minutes ago, providing the assembled losers and oddballs with a few common platitudes and non-descript facts about her life while she secretly cast harried glances at the alarmingly shrinking distance between her and the Goblin King  
The whole ordeal felt like a totally demented game of musical chairs, and with every ring of the bell she inched closer to her doom.

Finally there was only one chair in between her and the Goblin King.  
Somehow the reprieve she had managed to gain for herself had dwindled down to nothing, and Sarah realized that she had no idea what to say to him.  
Starting to feel panicky, she frantically rubbed her sweaty palms on her pants and tried to relax the stiff muscles in her cheek before she developed a lockjaw.

Completely blocking out the soporific drone of the mousy insurance agent in front of her, she surreptitiously peeked at the Goblin King and his partner out of the corner of her eye.  
His counterpart was probably somewhere in her early fifties, painfully blond, and may or may not have been at one stage quite a beautiful woman before a rabid flock of plastic surgeons had been unleashed on her face.  
She was currently leaning across the table with an enraptured expression, one Swarovsky-adorned claw tracing her fish-pout lips while the other hand was pushing up her ample breasts, highlighting the slightly wilted contents of her cleavage in a very unflattering manner in Sarah's opinion.

Whatever Jareth had told her must have been amusing, because in the next moment she let loose with an ear-piercing shriek of laughter, that sounded like Mickey Mouse being roasted alive, and swatted playfully at Jareth's hand.  
"Oh Jareth! You are a naughty boy", she cooed lasciviously, wagging a spray-tanned orange finger at him.

All in all it was rather nauseating, and she quickly peered at the Goblin King to see his reaction to it. He had winced together with the rest of the room at the laughter from hell, and the artificial smile he sported made him look like he had a toothache.

For an instant she almost pitied him.  
Almost.  
Because in the next moment the bell rang again, and now it was her turn with the glittery goblin monarch.

She waited patiently while fish-mouth circuitously climbed out of her chair, tossed her bleached hair over her shoulder and finally, mercifully, ambled down the aisle, rolling her hips ostentatiously with every step.

Putting on her most radiant host-of-the-successful-cocktail-party-smile, she quickly scooted over.  
"Oh my God! Jareth! What a nice surprise!" she squealed with faux excitement before he had had time to so much as look at her.  
"Not dead after all I see, jolly good!" she tacked on nastily, keeping her voice deceptively sweet.

After some lamentably short deliberation time she had decided on an aggressive attack strategy, after all it is 'for he that strikes the first blow, if he strikes it hard enough, may need to strike no more'.  
She couldn't agree more with Sauron there, and to her deep satisfaction the comment wiped the gratified smile her greeting had evoked straight from his face.

He scowled at her. "And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?"

Time to sprinkle some salt into the wound.  
"Well, you know" she said with carefully studied hesitancy, "I thought after my defeating your labyrinth and you… you know," she flapped her arms at her sides in order to imitate his flying off in his owl form, "I couldn't be all too sure what had happened to you."

Rearranging her features into a silly simper, she blinked up at him with wide innocent eyes.  
Bingo. Missile has successfully hit target. She watched with perverse fascination how his expression soured instantly.

"Thank you for your _kind-hearted_ concern, " he shot back sullenly, "but you needn't have worried on my account. It takes a bit more than that to finish me off, as I am sure you're _very_ glad to hear. And nice to see you too by the way."

"Hmm, yes well, I'd love to say the same to you, but then I _would_ be lying I suppose…" she heaved a fake sigh as if wanting to say 'what a shame'.

He barked out a laugh at that.  
"Pity indeed. But I am glad to hear that you have at least outgrown that nasty habit of yours to lie" he taunted, "shame only your social skills have not improved as much with time…"  
Now it was his turn to give a fake sigh, and he shrugged his shoulders in an ostentatious but-hey-what-can-you-do kind of way.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  
"I haven't got any problems with my social skills, thank you very much," she snapped at him, her tone belying her statement. The jibe had of course hit home.

He gave a fake cough that sounded suspiciously like 'Toby', and then looked meaningfully around the room as if silently asking her 'and what about all of this then, eh?'

There you go.  
Naturally he _would_ have to remind her of that – he would never ever let her forget that she had wished her brother away in a sulky and selfish teenage-all-misunderstood tantrum.  
Asshole.

She opened her mouth, snarky reply already at hand, but he interrupted her.

"But of course not, how silly of me," he exclaimed, a hand pressed against his chest in a gesture of mock apology. "I would never dare to insinuate that the charms of the Champion of the Labyrinth are anything but exquisite. Why I've noticed that you have made quite the impressive conquest there after all."  
He smiled at her wickedly, moving his eyes to the left.

She turned her head in the indicated direction and instantly wished she hadn't.  
Juan was ogling her like a lovesick baboon, and upon catching her eyes he wriggled his eyebrows in a come-hither way and sucked the air in between his gold teeth.

Sarah shuddered and ground her teeth.  
How was it possible? Not even two minutes into this blasted dating debacle and she already wanted to kill him.  
Dearly.

Jareth chuckled quietly at her reaction.

Forget that.  
She wanted to slaughter him in the most excruciatingly painful way possible and then go trampling on his hacked remains, tittering madly and singing Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy'.

"Well, I dare say it wasn't that hard, seeing as even _you_ have made some friends here, as far as I can see," she sniped back viciously.  
To substantiate her statement, she jerked her head at fish-mouth, who right on cue started to cackle again like a strangled turkey.  
What in the name of God she could have found funny with smelly armpits Sarah didn't even want to imagine.

At least he had the decency to look slightly sheepish, and for a moment they were both silently contemplating the well-assorted freak-show around them.

Jareth was the first to speak again.  
"But I am curious. What brings you here, if you don't mind me asking?"  
He grinned at her evilly, knowing full well that she minded very much.

Well shit.  
That was exactly the question she had been hoping to avoid.  
 _The truth is that I have a major problem in the sex department – I simply cannot come.  
Ever.  
And so my best friend thought it a good idea that I loosen up a little bit and meet new people – or in other words shag my way through a few random beds in search for the elusive orgasm, and you?_

"I lost a bet", she said curtly.

He obviously fought hard to keep a straight face and nodded. "A bet, huh?"

"Yes, a bet."  
She fixed him sternly, daring him to doubt her answer.

He tilted his head to one side and pursed his lips.  
"So Sarah, do you still like to play _games_ then?"  
He let his voice drop to an alluring purr.

Sarah rolled her eyes and snorted.  
"Seriously Jareth, that? Come on, that had to be the most corny and hackneyed line you could have come out with. Right from the standard handbook for trite villain's phrases. Honestly, the only thing missing there was the moustache for you to twirl."

He widened his eyes in mock shock.  
"Dear me. I do apologize. And there was me thinking I was coming up with something original for once. I was going to say 'Your eyes are like gleaming emeralds and your hair as black as ebony', you know."

She shook her head decisively. "Too late. That one has already been used on me tonight."

"I know, I've heard." He cocked an eyebrow at her questioningly. "What about 'I think God must be missing an angel?"

Sarah burst out laughing despite herself - it was just too ridiculous. "Nah, too tacky."

"Hmm, I think I have it. That compliment never fails to please: 'You have grown up nicely I see. Developed nice curves and filled out in all the right places I must say'."

"Oh God, no! Don't! That reminds me too much of pervy uncle Geoffrey and his special hugs reserved just for me at Thanksgiving."  
Sarah wrinkled her nose at the memory.

He guffawed at that, and for once it was an open and carefree laugh, neither malicious nor mocking, and Sarah chortled with him.  
She had to admit that she was starting to enjoy herself.  
A little bit at any rate.  
Compared to the rest of this chamber of horrors he was at least intelligent and witty.  
And of course he _was_ handsome – even a blind nun would have to acknowledge that.

Still, time to retaliate.  
"So enough about me, because the million dollar question here is after all what could make the most regal Goblin King show up in such a pathetic place as this."  
She shot him a challenging look.

He met her glare straight on.  
"I'm researching. Part of my little field study, you know" he deadpanned.

"Research?" Sarah snorted, "my ass, you don't honestly believe that I am buying that one?!"

"Well", he said delicately, carefully studying his nails, "let me put it this way; I was polite enough to pretend to believe your little lie there, and so I think it would be only fair if you did me the same courtesy."

Touchée.  
They were both lying and they both knew it – she couldn't very well reproach him for it.

Jareth cast a glance at the watch on the table.  
"Well, looks like we haven't got much time anymore. But listen Sarah", he sexily lowered his voice around her name, "if you go for a drink with me later, I might tell you the true reason for me being here."

"Nice try, but no. As soon as this blasted bell rings, I will be out of here, and us going for drinks was not included in that plan."

"Fair enough. Suit yourself, but let me tell you this – I am sure that you will be singing a different tune very soon. Mark my words, before the evening is over you will be very glad for my assistance."

He let the statement hang there ominously, but before Sarah had had time to ask him what he meant by this, the obnoxious bell dinged again, and she focused on planning her escape.

When she had cleverly chosen the seat furthest from the entrance to start with, she had not only calculated in that it was the furthest from the Goblin King, but also that when she had done all the stations of the cross she would end up right next to the entrance.  
She lost therefore no time and scrambled to her feet, ready to bolt out of the door.

Unfortunately for Sarah, the shoulder strap of her handbag had wound itself unperceivedly around the legs of her chair, and when she jumped to her feet, handbag clutched tightly in one hand, she was jerked back violently, lost her balance and fell straight on her face in plain sight for everyone to see.

And apparently her martyrdom was far from over yet.  
While she still frantically tried to pry her handbag loose from the chair, she saw out of the corner of her eyes a pair of mint-green legs entering her field of vision.  
The overdosed chipmunk had obviously noticed her fall – well, who in the goddamn room hadn't really - and had come over to investigate. Brilliant.

"Oh deary, that was quite a nasty little tumble you had there, you ok? No hurtsies?"

What the hell was it with him and his baby talk?  
She quickly jumped to her feet, her face burning brighter than a whole Irish family after their holiday on Majorca.  
"No, I'm fine thank you. Nothing happened," she gave an embarrassed little laugh, "but I really should be going now, cutting it a bit fine already in fact…"  
She started turning around, but the sadistic chipmunk wouldn't have any of it.

"Going? Now? But you can't do that! The fun hasn't even started yet – the really good part is just coming!"  
And with that he pressed a glass of cheap prosecco on her and ushered her towards the middle of the room, where everyone was already mingling for the apparently mandatory post-speed-dating-because-we-haven't-had-enough-already party. 

* * *

Interesting. Very interesting indeed.  
When he had ventured out tonight the last person he had expected to meet was the sassy once-upon-a-time Labyrinth winner.  
Whose victory, however, was only due to pure luck and an uncanny talent to suck up to some of his more dim-witted subjects, as one ought to add.

Still, with her there the evening had suddenly promised to become a whole lot more exciting, and he had been looking forward to their little tête-à-tête.

He had watched with malicious glee how she had struggled her way through the line of third-class rated odd lot males, becoming increasingly more flustered and vexed.

Admittedly, the choice of eligible bachelors was particularly dire tonight, and it didn't look much better on the ladies side, but watching her grapple with the full force of the assembled stupidity and ugliness was simply hilarious and well worth having his patience tested by the string of foolish trollops batting their eyelashes at him.

Unlike her he was quite used to it by now – the trick was not to take things too seriously- and so he had elegantly and effortlessly manoeuvred his way through the mindless conversations, charming and beguiling the drooling females left, right and center.

He never had any serious intentions towards any of them of course – one had a certain standard to uphold and an impeccable taste after all – but he couldn't resist the easily gained admiration that was so lavishly showered upon him at these events.  
A cheeky wink over here and a suggestive comment over there and already they were lying at his feet.  
It was like shooting fish in a barrel really – near enough too damn easy, but very very gratifying, and it was exactly what his much battered ego of late needed.

Not so with Sarah of course – he should have known really.  
He hadn't even had time yet to rile that explosive temper of hers with a few well-placed jibes, when she had already lashed out at him, and he had to admit that she knew how to hit below the belt where it hurt most.

Ah, but the fun it had been when he had started to needle her in return and could watch complacently how she became more and more agitated by his taunts, but tried to hide it behind a cool façade, pretending for all the world to be the aloof and collected ice queen.

He knew better though, and by expertly pulling the sleeping lion's tail, he had soon brought her to the point where he expected sparks flying from her nose at any moment.

She was quite obviously lying about her true reasons for attending the speed-dating party and was uncomfortable with the subject, so Jareth naturally wanted to know very much why that was so, and he had immediately decided therefore that he would find out, no matter the cost.

But that was not all.  
As soon as he had laid eyes on her, he had determined that she would be the sole focus of his endeavours tonight.  
Forget about the other twits, he would do everything in his powers and use all his considerable guile and charm to bring the Champion of the Labyrinth under his thumb – and, ideally, into his bed.  
It was in parts petty revenge, but in other parts it was also a nice little challenge, the very thing he needed right now, and he wanted to succeed with her just to prove that he could.

He had been shaking with silent laughter when she had failed in her pathetic attempt at escape and had been herded back towards the cluster of unwelcome suitors by the silly and unsuspecting host of the evening.  
And now he watched with spiteful delight how the whole screaming farce unfolded before his eyes.

She had successfully sidestepped the greasy Mexican, only to be accosted a moment later by a lanky grunge youth with serious personal hygiene problems, and when she had finally managed to extricate herself from his clutches, she had run straight into the arms of a nerdy looking dweep, whose only interesting attribute was the spinach stuck between his front teeth.

He himself had no problems warding off the undesired advances of the females present, and seeing her floundering in her attempts to get away from the overly friendly bunch of bumbling idiots had to be to most fun he had in ages.

After a while he took pity on her though.  
Stepping up behind a very harassed looking Sarah, who desperately tried to wring her hand out of the grip of Speedy Gonzales before he could plant a wet kiss on it, he whispered in her ear.  
"Need help?"

She jumped violently and turned around.  
The look of relief on her face at finding him there was nearly comical, and her voice was brimming with gratitude when she answered.  
"Yes please actually, if you would be so good."

The dent to her pride made the whole thing even sweeter in his opinion, and he could almost smell her chagrin at having to admit her need for help to _him_ of all people.

He obliged her though.  
Assuming his most intimidating alpha male stance, he soon established his superiority over the other would-be candidates jockeying for position, and substantiating his claim upon her even further, he cheekily laid an arm around her shoulders and called out for everyone to hear: "So _darling_ , shall we go now?"

He saw muscle twitch reflexively in Sarah's cheek at the endearment, but she played her part accordingly, bestowing a tooth-achingly sweet smile upon him.  
"Right you are there _honeycombs_ , it's getting late after all."

Reluctantly and regretfully the crowd started to back off, and let them through.  
Once out of earshot, the forced smile fell from her face immediately, and she let out a tired sigh.  
"Well, thanks I guess", she acknowledged him grudgingly.

"You're welcome. Now, I believe you owe me a dinner though."

"Dinner? I thought it had been just drinks before?"  
She shot him a filthy look, but he wouldn't let her wheedle her way out of this none, not a chance. Assuming his most neutral expression, he waited patiently.  
Finally she caved in.

"Fine!" she huffed, "let's go for dinner then - I guess I owe it to you."

Ah, sweet success!

They exited the premises in companionable silence, and he fell in step next to her.  
"So pervy Uncle Goeffrey, eh? Now, that sounds fun, please do tell!"

"Nah, you wouldn't want to her about that – you haven't eaten yet." 

* * *

****So, that's it for the moment.**  
 **If you feel particularly charitable you may leave a review - in all honesty, they do warm that cold and sarcastic heart of mine, and may even encourage me to continue with this silly tripe.****

 **Notes:  
\- 'for he that strikes the first blow, if he strikes it hard enough, may need to strike no more' stems from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, obviously.**

 **-'pervy Uncle Goeffrey' was purloined from Helen Fielding's 'Bridget Jones' Diary'. I thought she wouldn't begrudge me the use of him.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:**  
 **Blimey, completely forgot about that for the last two chapters, didn't I?**  
 **Well, here it is: Do not own Jareth or Sarah - I just like to take them for a ride.**

* * *

 **First of all thank you so much for your kind reviews! I love hearing from you all, and it's always a great motivation.**  
 **Having said that, I think an apology is in order for the incredible slackertude on my side - I do not normally leave stories hanging there for so long.**  
 **I blame it on our new cat - he is called Jareth, and I honestly can't understand anymore why I thought that was a good idea for a name, because turns out nomen est omen after all - he is a complete goblin.**  
 **Please just don't tell the real Jareth that I named a cat after him - I really like my head attached to my neck, thanks.**

* * *

Silently cursing to herself, Sarah squeezed her damp behind into yet another absurdly uncomfortable plastic construction, and irritably swiped her sopping wet hair out of her face.  
Great. Now the wet trickle ran unpleasantly down her neck instead.

She cast a malevolent glare at the miraculously dry and spotless looking Jareth, who had seated himself in his respective plastic torture device with all the dignity of the noble goblin monarch claiming his throne.  
How he managed to slouch so casually in the ergonomically completely failed attempt at a chair was anyone's guess really.

Jareth disgustedly eyed the place up and down, not bothering to hide his displeasure.  
"What is this?" he finally asked her disparagingly, a vague wave of his arm indicating that he was referring to their charming surroundings.

"It's called a restaurant. You know, a place where you can order food in exchange for money," she deadpanned, starting to rummage through her handbag.

He gave an exasperated sigh.  
"Well yes, thank you. I was aware of that, would you believe."

She bit back the petulant and childish 'really' that had wanted to escape desperately at that.

"But," he continued, "I merely wanted to enquire if you hadn't found it in your heart to choose a slightly more agreeable place."

"It's warm and it's dry. And it was open. It will be fine," she addressed the contents of her handbag tersely, not in the mood to put up with his whining.

Of course it was anything but fine.  
In fact, it was downright atrocious, but she wasn't going to admit that she was equally revolted by the shabby little diner they had taken refuge in, when she had been the one to suggest it.

And anyway, it was his fault really.  
Hadn't he been the one wanting to go for dinner in the first place?  
And then they had wasted all this time in a heated argument over whether or not she would allow him to take her somewhere on his motorbike - which she had settled eventually with a unequivocal 'over my dead body' - causing them to miss the one lonely bus that had dared to venture into this god-forsaken part of the city.  
Out of other options, they had then been forced to look for something close by, only to realize that obviously nobody in their right mind would think to open a restaurant in such a glum area.

To top everything off nicely, the light drizzle they had encountered upon leaving 'Matchmakers' had then naturally decided to transform into a veritable downpour, soaking them both through and through within minutes.  
Miserably sloshing through the rain, they had passed a fair lot of closed places, and then a not inconsiderable amount of establishments that were either so dodgy or so repulsive that the mere thought of having to enter any of them had made her skin crawl, leaving them at long last with only one viable option.

Truthfully, Mandy's Diner was long past its prime – if it had ever had one at all – but in comparison to the grimy Chinese restaurants, where one suspected the succulent meet in one's sweet-and-sour actually turning out to be the friendly neighbourhood rat, the decrepit little diner with its wonky flickering neon sign had appeared downright cheerful.

Thoroughly fed up with the whole undertaking by then, Sarah had overridden his objections and dragged them both through the pitifully creaking glass door.

So here they were now, the only two patrons apart from an old tramp in the corner who mumbled quietly to himself over a cup of coffee. It was indeed unappealing; faded and chipped formica tables, cheesy sixties decoration and a smell of rancid frying oil escaping the kitchen rounded off the first unfavourable impression.

"I am just saying, if you had let me…" he started again, showing all signs of wanting to pick up the earlier argument.

"Let's not start again!" she snapped, finally emerging from her handbag with a packet of antiseptic surface wipes clutched triumphantly in her hand.  
She lost no time extracting a good wad from the packet, and started to thoroughly wipe down the unappetizingly stained and greasy surface of the table.

Jareth watched her interestedly for a moment.  
"What in Danu's name are you doing there?!" he suddenly burst out.

She shot him a surprised look.  
"Cleaning the table, what else? It's filthy."

He gave an indelicate snort. "Right."

"Well, it is. But I guess compared to the mess that is your throne room, it could be considered positively pristine" she sniffed haughtily.

"So, you carry those with you wherever you go?" he enquired after a pause, as if genuinely interested.

Sarah eyed him suspiciously; the question was innocent enough, but in his eyes she could see amusement at her expense.  
"Ye-es?" she said cautiously.

His wicked grin confirmed her suspicions – she had most likely just walked into the trap he had set for her.  
"Don't you think that's a tad overstrung?" he poked further.

Jareth one – Sarah nill.  
Asshole.  
But she had to applaud his intuition – he had after all hit the sore spot without even so much as trying.  
"I don't think that this is any of your business," she retorted in her best hoity-toity voice.

He shrugged. "Well no," he conceded, "I just never realized before that you were so obsessed with order and cleanliness, that's all. But it makes it all the more astonishing, doesn't it? I wonder…" he trailed off meaningfully.

"Wondering what exactly?" she snapped.

"Well, simply how did you ever manage to get through my Labyrinth in this case?" he said, shaking with suppressed laughter.

"I'll have you know that I am _not_ obsessed" she snarled, genuinely miffed, "but if you must know, my analyst thinks that my deeply ingrained wish for order and cleanliness must be rooted in the traumatic experiences I had in the Labyrinth. In fact" she continued in a tearful voice "I still have nightmares to that day, you know, mountains of rubbish coming tumbling down and burying me alive and the sort."  
She wiped a non-existent tear out of the corner of her eye for better effect.

The Goblin King stared at her dumbfounded. "Really?"

"Well no. But it makes for a good story, you have to admit," she said flatly.

Ha! Jareth one – Sarah one.  
"Shall we order?" she quickly changed the subject before he could retaliate.

He shot her a filthy look and flagged down the bored-looking waitress with an imperious wave of his hand.

The girl, who had been loitering at the counter, gave an exasperated sigh and slowly slouched over, two tattered menus in her hand.  
"Hi, my name is Miranda, and I will be your host for tonight. Can I bring you something to drink?" she rattled off in a tone that suggested that they could just go and stuff themselves for all that she cared.

Jareth slowly eyed her up and down, taking in her ill-fitting pink uniform, spotty face and frizzy ginger hair, that clashed violently with the colour of her shirt.

"How gracious of you _Miranda_ " he sneered "why yes, actually after having been ignored for a solid ten minutes we would quite appreciate some refreshments, thank you."  
He gave her a smile that would have made Sarah running for the hills had it been directed at her.

However, the unfortunate and oafish Miranda only gaped at him stupidly, obviously not used to patrons filing a complaint about her service, and then, upon taking in his appearance, her face turned a violent shape of puce that clashed even more horribly with the rest of her outfit.  
"Yes sir, immediately sir. I am dreadfully sorry for the delay! What can I bring you?" she stammered out, fluttering her eyelashes and bestowing what she evidently thought was her most winning smile on him.

"Ladies first" Jareth said courteously, extending a hand in Sarah's direction.

The smile on Miranda's face fell immediately and she turned herself unwillingly towards Sarah.  
"Miss?"

Sarah refrained with difficulty from rolling her eyes at Jareth's misplaced gallantry and the silly chit's instantaneous infatuation with the Goblin King.  
"Well, what wines do you have?" she asked cautiously.

As expected that brought her up short.  
Miranda scrunched her face up in concentration and tapped a scruffy nail against her braces while thinking.  
"We have…um… red? And… erm … let me think… oh yes, white." She beamed at Sarah, happy with her accomplishment and completely forgetting for the moment that she was supposed to be snubbing her assumed rival.

Sarah snobbishly wrinkled her nose. "No, thank you. I think I will have a beer then."

The thousand-watts-smile back on, Miranda turned to Jareth. "And for you, sir?"

After a painful five minutes that involved a lot of embarrassing and awkward flirting from Miranda's side, Jareth finally managed to shoo the besotted waitress off with their orders.  
She had seemed completely oblivious to his biting sarcasm and condescending treatment. Poor sod.

But Sarah had noticed, and she couldn't stop herself from commenting on it.  
"You know, you might be the Goblin King in your own little empire, but that does not mean that you can treat everyone up here like your boorish subjects."  
Frankly, not that she cared all that much, but when faced with so much arrogance, she simply had to act up as the good Samaritan and defender of human rights.

Jareth raised an eyebrow at her quizzically.  
"What has being the Goblin King got to do with it? Bad service is bad service, no matter if it's Underground or Aboveground," he brushed her off.  
"And anyway, it hasn't escaped my notice that you seem to labour under the misapprehension that I am not sufficiently acquainted with the ways of your people here Aboveground. Well, thank you again for your thoughtful concern, but let me reassure you, it is unnecessary – I am well versed in the traditions and customs of mortals."

She cocked her head to the side, eying him sceptically.  
"Oh? How so?"

The sour expression on his face informed her that he obviously found her disbelief mildly insulting.  
"Not that it is any of your business, but I have stayed Aboveground for extended periods of time before", he said irritably.

"Really?" she exclaimed  
"Ah, let me guess, that must have been during World War one and two, the great plague epidemic, and then possibly the Spanish inquisition?" she sniggered.  
"You know," she added in a shaky sing-song "'Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste…"  
Her impromptu rendition of 'Sympathy for the Devil' was thankfully cut short by the fit of the giggles that overcame her at that point.

"Ha, ha, very funny" he griped stony-faced.

"Well yes, it was" Sarah interrupted him between fits of laughter.

"But alas, no. Sorry to disappoint, but I think you must be confusing me with my neighbour from downstairs", he retaliated, "I can make introductions though, if you wish?" he added silkily with an eerie leer at her.

That shut her up quickly.  
"No thanks, that won't be necessary."  
Heaven forbid, literally, if he was serious about that.

The somewhat strained silence was then luckily interrupted by the arrival of their drinks.  
They clinked their glasses and Sarah took a careful sip.  
Unsurprisingly, the brew tasted stale and exuded an unpleasant smell like unwashed socks.

"So Sarah" Jareth picked up the conversation again, "what do you do then these days?"

"I am the executive arts director for 'Trends', you know, the weekly lifestyle magazine," she answered proudly.  
Technically, she was only the chief secretary to the executive arts director of course, but he needn't know that, right?

He nodded. "Interesting. And any family? Boyfriends?"

What the fuck? The Goblin King was trying his hand in polite small talk, seriously?  
"No, not really. I am not looking for a solid relationship at the moment – not enough time with the job and everything, you know," she said airily.  
No need for him to know about her cataclysmic break-up from her last boyfriend either, the tears and tantrums, and the weeks spent moping in pyjamas on the sofa. Nope, definitely no need for that.

Feeling pressed to keep up the polite exchange, Sarah scrambled for a question of her own.  
"And what about you? I mean, erm, the Labyrinth still going strong?"

"Well, since it has been pretty much unchanged in centuries, I would say yes" he said equanimously.

His remark made Sarah feel stupid about her own clumsily worded inquiry, and she also realized that in reality she actually knew next to nothing about his realm.  
"So, what does the mighty Goblin King do then with his time, when he is not plaguing unfortunate runners?" she asked cheekily.

He gave her a look that was downright pitying.  
"I am a king Sarah", he said tartly, "I have a kingdom to run. Surely even you are remotely familiar with the responsibilities of a head of state?"

"Oh, right."  
She felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. Leave it to him to make her feel like a complete dunce when she was only trying to be friendly.

The uncomfortable silence stretched on while they waited for their main courses to arrive. They avoided each other's eyes - the Goblin King staring off into distance and Sarah fiddling with her glass on the table.

Well, who would have thought?  
If somebody had told Sarah yesterday that she would end up having a dinner date with the Goblin King, she would have deemed that highly unlikely at best.  
But if she would have imagined that highly unlikely event, she would never have guessed that they would be sitting here lost for a topic of conversation and awkward like teenagers on their first date.  
How droll.

Just like that the whole absurdity of their situation hit her like a brick, and Sarah narrowly suppressed a snort.  
Here she was sitting with the Goblin King of all people in a grubby little diner, and she had absolutely no idea what to say.  
Maybe she should start talking about the weather, just to relief them of this embarrassing lull in the conversation? Or perhaps ask him about his hobbies?  
They could start discussing golf or fishing.

Sarah bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing out loud - the mental image of the Goblin King in golfing gear was just too ludicrous - but it would not do to start cackling like a madwoman now.  
It was useless though; the more she tried to suppress her laughter, the worse it got, as more and more completely ridiculous pictures popped up in her head.  
She felt reminded of the poor soldiers interrogated by the Pilate in Monty Python's 'Life of Brian' – 'Biggus Dickus, do you find that funny?!'

Of course that in turn brought to mind Jareth and his ostentatiously displayed crotch.

She stuffed her knuckles into her mouth, desperately trying to choke off the bubbling hysteria.  
However, it only got worse when she suddenly had a vision of the Goblin King - complete with feather duster coat and criminally tasteless, tight white pants - standing in the middle of Mandy's diner and extending a burger towards her, 'Do you want it, Sarah?'

Sarah couldn't help herself. A giggle escaped her, and her shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

Predictably, Jareth stared at her as if she had lost her mind.  
"What is so funny, pray tell?"

His bewildered expression finally sent her completely over the edge, and she burst out laughing, tears of mirth streaming down her face.

He watched her with a half amused and half exasperated expression on his face.

She incoherently tried to explain herself between bouts of laughter.  
"Sorry… hihihi…it's not that funny really. It's just you and me, and this godawful place, and the whole evening. Juan…"  
Another conniption followed at the thought of Juan's flabbergasted face when he had spotted Jareth and her escaping the clutches of 'Matchmaker's'.

Even Jareth cracked a smile at that, and slowly Sarah calmed down enough to explain herself.  
"You see", she said, still chuckling, "the whole situation is just so bizarre, especially when you think about the last time we have seen each other. You know all that 'Sarah beware' and 'You have no power over me' crap, and now we are sitting here waiting for what's most likely the world's worst burger to arrive. It was just that" she finished somewhat lamely.

Jareth grinned at her.  
"Well, if you put it that way", he said and raised his glass to her, "to irony of fate."

She clinked her glass with him. "Cheers."

"You know", she said thoughtfully after a small pause, "maybe we should just get it over with once and for all. I will admit to having been an insufferably whiny and spoiled brat, if you in turn acknowledge that you were an overbearing and arrogant asshole, and then maybe we can forget about it all."

He barked out a laugh at that. "Agreed, precious."

"And don't call me precious!" she grumbled. 

* * *

**Well, that's it for the moment. Sorry for not so much happening in this chapter.**  
 **Originally we should have already got a glimpse here (or fiasco number one) about the real plot of this story, but then somehow the whole thing got longer and longer, and I had to cut it here before it went completely out of hand.**  
 **So next chapter will find our two heros on friendlier terms, and we can hopefully finally introduce the real purpose of this story and progress to the much awaited M rating :)**

 **Special thanks by the way to Anneige and her wonderful suggestions and ideas - some of them will crop of for sure, watch out ;)**

 **And finally, just to be completely correct:**

 **-The joke about the wine is not mine - it stems from a wonderfully quirky movie called 'Hot Fuzz'.**

 **-Monty Python is Monty Python is legend. Who doesn't know the famous scene with Biggus Dickus?**

 **-Sympathy for the Devil belongs, of course, to the Rolling Stones.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here we go - chapter 4 finally.**  
 **Took me long enough, and I am very sorry for the delay!**

 **Thanks again for all your reviews, follows and likes - always makes my day.**

 **I am not entirely happy with this because I originally wanted to take the story much further in this chapter than that, but it was getting altogether too long, and so I decided to post it anyway, rather than having it sit on my computer for even longer. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Things were not really going to plan in Jareth's opinion.  
He hadn't really expected Sarah to be impressed with his motorbike, but he _had_ been a tad surprised when she had point-blank refused to come anywhere near it _at all._  
Of course, there was the minor snag of him not having a second helmet for her, but then what did it matter? He was the Goblin King for Danu's sake! He had magic, and he therefore didn't give a rat's fart about health and safety.  
Her lack of trust in his abilities and his obviously faulty powers of persuasion were just another pique to his already quite battered pride.

However, the evening could have still been salvaged at that point. Or so he had thought. In hindsight, he guessed that he should have known better – nothing was ever easy with Sarah after all.

Despite his protestations, she had insisted on dragging him into this shithole of a diner, and all his carefully laid out plans that had involved romantic music and candlelight dinner had sailed down the drain together with the veritable deluge that had assaulted them as soon as they had set foot on the street.

And now he was sitting opposite a bedraggled and obviously very grumpy Sarah in a place where he normally wouldn't want to be caught dead in.

His thinly veiled disgust at her choice had then triggered a predictable round of snarky verbal sparring, and not even his suave attempts at friendly and harmless conversation had been able to lighten the confrontational atmosphere.  
He had to do something, and quickly, before the whole evening derailed into a completely FUBAR-ed disaster.

But then she had surprised him.  
Out of nowhere she had interrupted his own musings and the dense fog of mutual distrust and antagonism with a completely unprovoked and slightly maniacal fit of laughter.

His first impulse had been to conjure a crystal and transform her into a toad for her insolence, but when she had explained the reason behind the sudden streak of humour, he had to admit that she had a point.

Imagine the almighty Goblin King chumming with the successful Champion of the Labyrinth in a ratty little greasy spoon over a glass of beer that was even fouler than last month's goblin ale.  
The irony was not lost on him, and he silently prayed to every higher deity that would listen that the fae court would never catch wind of that – his reputation was tattered enough as of late, thank you very much.

And then, to his utter astonishment, she had even extended a hand and offered an – admittedly poorly worded – olive branch.  
Well, he naturally disagreed with her about being an 'overbearing asshole', but he wasn't going to look a freely proposed peace overture into the mouth – not when it was playing so conveniently into his hands at any rate.  
Ah, precious Sarah.

Their earth-shattering moment was then unfortunately interrupted though by their moronic slag of a waitress.  
Miranda arrived at their table with a blissful simper on her face, that showed off more of her orthodontist's handiwork than he had ever wanted to know, and then bent over the table – rather lower than strictly necessary, one might add, no doubt to afford him an even more unwelcome insight into her cleavage - to set down two plates of food in front of them.

"Enjoy your meal; eat it while it's hot", she breathed throatily in a ludicrous attempt at seductiveness, and then pranced off towards the counter, swinging her rather too rotund bottom vigorously for extra effect.  
Had anyone ever thought to tell the poor soul that her ghastly uniform was at least three sizes too small for her?  
And that the overall picture that presented was a far cry from attractive?  
If anything, the sumptuous bumcheeks squashed into the violently pink fabric made him think of Miss Piggy in an orange wig.

He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or to cry.

He settled on crying when he looked down at his dinner in front of him - disgusting didn't even begin to cover the culinary Armageddon on his plate.  
Courtesy of Miranda and an obviously even more inept cook, he had got served a shrivelled black lump of something that was masquerading as a burger and a bunch of pale, floppy fries that looked like dead maggots dunked in oil.

"Oh dear", he sighed. Luckily, as the Goblin King, he didn't have to worry about food poisoning.

Sarah wasn't faring much better; he caught her how she gingerly poked at a fry on her plate as if she expected it to attack her any moment.

"You know", he said a little louder, "I think I've encountered more appetizing food in the 'Rancid Goat'."

"The 'Rancid Goat'? Is that supposed to be a restaurant?"  
Sarah, very bravely in his opinion, skewered a maggot on her fork and shoved in into her mouth.  
She washed it down with a big gulp of beer after chewing only _very briefly_.

Not wanting to look like a coward, he started to dismember his rubbery piece of meat, hacking at it with the for this purpose woefully inadequate, blunt knife.  
"It's a pub", he said pressed, after forcing the first morsel of the tough bastard down his throat, "and not just any pub, mind you - it's the very worst in Goblin City, and between you and me, that's saying something."

"I have no trouble believing that", Sarah snorted, in between vigorous attempts at dissecting her own burnt steak. "And you eat there?"

"Not if I can avoid it", he said flatly.

"But you have eaten there?"  
The movements of Sarah's knife had by now become very forceful, but the recalcitrant steak was of yet withstanding any endeavours to saw it apart.

"I have done, once", he admitted with a shudder, "but only because the castle goblins had gone on strike and all the other pubs in town had been closed because their landlords had been drunk as skunks after the summer solstice celebrations."

"And, how was it?" Sarah enquired archly, already guessing the answer, but wanting to hear it from him anyway.

"Well, lets put it this way – the hapless landlord of said pub had enjoyed an extended vacation in the bog together with the castle cooks and the rest of the bibulous landlords in town. And I got new kitchen staff."  
He bared his teeth in an evil grin.

Sarah stared at him wide-eyed, but before she could vent her indignation over the terror regime he had over his goblins, her still tirelessly working knife slipped and grated against the plate with an ear-splitting screech.  
They both watched dispassionately how the steak got propelled from Sarah's plate and flew in a graceful arch for a full two meters, before landing with a dull thud that sounded much louder than a steak had any business producing.

"Twenty points", he smirked.

Rolling her eyes at him, she contemplated the corpus delicti for a moment, clearly deliberating whether to go and pick it up, but then just shrugged and took another sip of her beer.

Putting the glass down a little more forcefully than strictly necessary, she suddenly burst out: "You know, this is absolutely atrocious, completely and utterly inedible!"

"Well, yes…."

"No, don't you dare! Don't you dare say 'I told you so'! I hate the 'I told you so'! That's what you always get from guys, you know, first they do fuck all and leave everything to the woman, and when something doesn't work out, they are the first to say ' I told you so'. It's just so typical…"

He held up a hand, trying to get a word in edgewise, but she steamrollered right over him, apparently getting right into her stride and, as a result, louder with every word.

"No, don't interrupt! I already know what's coming now. Next thing on the list is probably 'Don't be so overly sensitive' or 'Is it the time of the month again?', as usual completely and utterly disparaging of the fact that we as women might have a valid reason to be upset even if it's not the time of the month! But tell you what, I've had enough; I am fed up with patronizing, arrogant, know-it-all pricks!"

The silence that greeted this little cringe-worthy harangue was one of the loudest he had ever experienced.  
The tramp in the corner who had been slowly nodding off over his cup suddenly jerked awake with a loud rasping snore, and even Miranda had stopped chewing her gum in mid-masticate and curiously gawked over to them.

"Well, I was merely going to suggest that we give up on this fiasco of a dinner and go instead for a drink somewhere else," he said quietly.

It took a few seconds for his words to register, but when they did, Sarah quickly lowered her eyes to her plate and let her hair fall into her face, desperately but unsuccessfully trying to hide a rapidly spreading blush.  
"Right, erm, sorry. I guess that was rather uncalled for."

"That's quite alright", he said neutrally, careful to suppress the knowing smirk that threatened to split his cheeks.  
There was quite obviously some history involved here, and he couldn't wait to worm the details out of her, but it would have to wait for the moment.  
Goblin King or not, he had enough sense of self-preservation to know that riling up an already enraged female was never a good idea – in any species.

"So, shall we go then?", he suggested, "I know just the place to go, and it's not even far from here."

"Yes, yes, let's go."  
She must have been flustered enough that she hadn't even listened to him – it was the only explanation for her easy acquiescence – but who was he to complain? 

* * *

Well, that was awkward.  
As if the whole ill-fated project hadn't been enough of a first rate failure already, she had to go and make a complete fool out of herself by flying off the handle and digress into a long and undignified rant about the general inadequacy of the male species.  
Way to go Sarah.  
If the Goblin King had ever had any questions as to why she had been desperate enough to try her hand at speed dating, she had thoroughly and unequivocally answered them for him five minutes ago – where else would a cantankerous and hysterical shrew like her have any hope of finding a significant other?

The only thing she really wanted to do at this point was going home, burying her head underneath her pillow, and pretend that this whole evening had never happened.  
With her luck though, she would probably just wake up tomorrow morning and realize that the day had started all over again, like poor Phil in Groundhog Day.

Anyhow, the Goblin King had lost no time to predate on her momentary weakness, and had cajoled her into another ominous adventure, effectively trashing - yet again - her attempts to do a runner.

And by the looks of it fate, the sadistic bitch, wasn't done yet with Sarah Williams.

After a mercifully short walk they had stopped in front of a shabby little bar in a narrow alleyway.  
Sarah peered sceptically through the dirt encrusted windows of the gloomy and dilapidated place.  
"The Go in Bar," she read the lopsided sing over the door out loud, "are you sure about this? It doesn't exactly look inviting, you know?"

Jareth stopped and glanced back at her, one hand already extended towards the door.  
"Very sure. I come here occasionally on my own – it may not look like much, but it has the best beer in town, and good music. Nothing is what it seems – you should know that, Champion of the Labyrinth."

If that wasn't a challenge, then Sarah didn't know what was, and if he was hoping to intimidate her, he was in for a sore disappointment.  
She raised her head arrogantly, and strutted wordlessly past him through the door.

Her senses were immediately assaulted with a thick wall of cigarette smoke and loud rock music that blared from a jukebox in the corner.  
To say that the patrons were _really_ not her crowd would have been a gross understatement – as far as she could tell they consisted mainly of lice-ridden street punks, shady blokes in tracksuits that screamed drug dealer from a mile off, and run-down alcoholic whores in their fifties.  
Amongst this gathering of all the marginalized groups of modern society, she felt about as overdressed and out of place in her sensible dark green blouse and black trousers as the Queen of England handing out rations in a soup kitchen.

Resisting the urge to let Jareth go first – or even worse, grab his hand for support – she squared her shoulders and squinted through the dense fog. When she spotted a free table over by the window, she started to resolutely shoulder her way through the concentrated olfactory impact of ripe-smelling bodies, unwashed clothes and cheap perfume.

With a huff of relief she huddled in the very corner of the bench, hoping to avoid any undesired attention.  
Jareth, who had followed close behind, was offering to get them drinks, leaving her to contemplate the faded red surface of their table that was currently festooned with a selection of empty cigarette wrappings, soggy ashes and beer mats swimming in sticky puddles.

She fought an increasingly fierce battle with the overwhelming compulsion to grab her handbag and the all-salving antiseptic surface wipes within when Jareth returned with their two beers.  
He squeezed himself onto the bench next to her, and put down her glass down right into the middle of a particularly large puddle.

Sarah couldn't help it – she cringed violently, and her hands twitched towards her handbag of their own accord.  
But before she had any chance to open the clasp, she felt a foreign hand on her tightly clenched fingers, stilling their movement.

"Don't," Jareth said softly, "there's no need."

Apparently, her brain had hung itself up momentarily processing the exact texture of his slightly dry skin because there was no other explanation as to why she kept on staring down at her hands like an idiot rather than asking him what the hell he meant by that.

Turned out he was right though, because the next moment he let go of her hands and nodded towards the good-natured looking landlord who had come up to their table with a cleaning rag in hand.

Her amazement only grew when the diligent barman left their table a minute later spotlessly clean and with a friendly smile for both of them.

"Um, I guess that's unexpected?" she said, still slightly dazed.

"I told you so - first impressions can be misleading."  
Jareth directed a lopsided smile at her.

"Bastard," she said half-chuckling – she couldn't really begrudge him this one.  
"Maybe you're right, but then I am still not convinced that frolicking around on the Hell's Angels stomping ground is such clever idea in the long run."  
She inclined her head slightly towards the neighbouring table, where a massive biker guy - complete with leather west, ZZ Top-beard and a few _very_ evil looking tattoos - was currently rolling himself a cigarette.  
"And," she murmured, "I am fairly sure that's not only tobacco he is rolling up there."

He shrugged unconcernedly.  
"You get all kinds of folk in here, but it's not that bad, honestly. It's only really crazy on full moon… give and take two weeks, " he added under his breath when a particularly merry fellow chose exactly that moment to fall backwards off his barstool to the loud cheers of his equally sloshed mates.

Sarah choked on the hearty sip beer she had just taken, face turning puce from trying to suppress the demented coughing fit that wanted to creep up her throat.  
"That sums it up nicely I would say, " she wheezed when able to speak again.

She took another sip of her beer, shivering inadvertently when the cold liquid ran down into her stomach – she was still dripping wet and cold.  
"This is surprisingly good, you know, I guess you were right about that too," she admitted grudgingly.

Uncharacteristically, he refrained from gloating and only nodded distractedly, brows slightly furrowed.  
"Allow me?" he asked then unexpectedly, gesturing towards her clothes and hair.

It took her a moment to grasp his meaning, and when she did her eyes snapped up to his, gauging his intent.

Should she allow him to use his magic on her? Was that safe? Or prudent?  
It seemed all of a sudden the evening had reached a somewhat critical turning point – they could either go on pretending that they were old enemies thrown together by more rotten luck than anyone deserved in their life, and continue to exchange poisoned barbs and underhanded insults, or she could decide to trust him on this, and maybe make a tentative attempt to behave like a responsible adult rather than projecting all her old childhood fears and grudges on him.

"Okay," she squeaked finally, trying to reign in the unwelcome memories and anxiety when with a twist of his wrist a perfect crystal appeared at the tip of his fingers.  
She held her breath, eyes tightly shut, but when the impact came, she only felt a light tingling down her spine.  
It was oddly anticlimactic.  
"Well, that was dramatic," she said sarcastically, trying to gloss over her apprehension.

He only smirked, not fooled by her attempt at nonchalance.  
"What did you expect? Loud bangs and glittery smoke?"

"Is that even a question?" she scoffed, "it's you we're talking about after all - or did sparkly dinner jackets and melodramatic speeches suddenly go out of fashion in the Labyrinth?"

"You know that the things you encountered in the Labyrinth say actually a lot more about you than about me?" he shot back.

Sarah shook her head. "I don't even pretend to understand that one, how so?"

He took a long draught from his own beer.  
"Every run is unique, not two people experience the same; and what they encounter depends on the challenge issued, the guilt they have incurred, and on their own dreams and fears."

"So, does that mean it could have been a lot worse?"

"Most definitely, " he said darkly.

She felt every hair at the back of her neck raise itself – she had always considered her experience as a something like a particularly outlandish childhood adventure, surreal and slightly frightening for sure, but nothing as dark or dangerous as he suggested.  
His words made her reconsider; had she simply been lucky? What else could he have thrown her way? The possibilities that ran through her head were, frankly, chilling to the bone.

"I guess I've never given it a thought," she said slightly shaky, "I mean I always knew that something extraordinary has happened to me, something supernatural – magical even. But it's not like I could have told anyone about it – not in a world that doesn't believe in magic, where magic for all intents and purposes doesn't exist – so I just left it at that. Yes, Sarah Williams went to _faerie_ – or wherever you took me – and came back, and that is that. I never questioned it, but I never tried to give it more thought than strictly necessary either."  
She realized that she was babbling, but she couldn't stop herself – it felt surprisingly good to be finally able to talk about it to somebody.  
"For the most part I've simply put it behind me, until you showed up tonight, and isn't that bizarre in itself? And I think I've tried very hard all evening to forget what you are, what you can do, it never even occurred to me that there could be others…"  
She trailed off and peeked at him questioningly.

"You would be surprised," he said slowly, "magic isn't as dead in this world as some people would have you believe."

"Obviously not," she grinned, toasting her glass towards him.  
She wasn't sure why she was trying to steer the conversation away from the serious topic and into more cheerful waters again, but dwelling on the fact that she was currently having a drink with an all-powerful fairy king was altogether simply too daunting.

"That reminds me though," she said, pointing her finger at him, "you have never told me why you are really here, and you said you would if I agreed to go for a drink with you."

"Ah yes, that."

"Yes that. What's said is said, and all that tosh, or not?"  
She folded her arms across her chest in a poor imitation of him.

He groaned.  
"Very well. Now what I've told you so far is partially true… well it _is_ ," he defended himself upon seeing her sceptical expression, "because as we have discussed I am in the habit of visiting the mortal world for extended periods of time. It is useful to stay in touch with a world that borders so closely on our own, and even more so since I have to deal with its inhabitants frequently. So you see I wasn't lying when I said I was on a research mission of sorts."

"But that's not all, isn't it?" she dug further.

"No, it's not," he sighed, " I will admit to feeling a bit _off_ , for lack of better word, lately; I needed a change of scenery."

That was certainly unexpected – the Goblin King taking a sabbatical?  
She quickly stamped upon the mental pictures of the haughty monarch in a singing bowl workshop or a meditative yoga retreat before she was overcome with another ill-timed fit of the giggles.

"How so?" she said instead, holding on tightly to her best poker face.

He scanned her face intensely, as if picking up on the faint traces of amusement.  
"Politics in the Underground are complex," he said haltingly, "there is of course the Labyrinth and the Goblin Kingdom to manage, but one also has to deal with the intrigues and changing alliances of the fae court. And then there are the runners; having to fulfil their expectations on top of everything else – well, it can be all very exhausting."

Sarah narrowly suppressed an incredulous huff.  
Seriously? What was she expected to say to that? She certainly wasn't going to play the violin for his pity party.  
She also decided to ignore the jibe directed at her – it would only incite another snarky verbal scramble if she reacted to it.

Luckily though, one might say, the tense moment was then interrupted by the appearance of a person on Jareth's right side.  
The stranger was a woman well into her sixties, judging by the lines on her face, dressed in one of the most peculiar assortment of clothes – if they could be called that – Sarah ever had the misfortune to come across.  
She wore what appeared to be nothing more than a pair of white cotton underpants and a bra, and over that a crocheted see-through shirt that reached to the middle of her abundantly displayed flabby thighs.  
The whole picture didn't get any more palatable by the fact that she was currently contorting herself around Jareth in a would-be alluring attempt at a lapdance.

"Hey there," she screeched in a voice that was utterly too high and girlish to go together with the rest of her prostitute-meets-scarecrow get-up, "now aren't you an utterly delectable sight for my sore eyes!"  
She extended a hand towards Jareth's face, by the looks of it with the clear intent to actually pinch his cheeks like a horrible parody of an overly fussy old aunt.

Sarah felt irresistibly reminded of the old hag in Hansel and Gretel, tweaking her caged charge with bony fingers, and she waited for the inevitable explosion with the same sensation seeking glee of one watching a train wreck unfold before his eyes.

To her chagrin it didn't come though- at least not as spectacularly as she would have imagined.  
Jareth simply ducked away from her groping hands, and sent her away with a menacing "Be off, woman, if you value the continued use of your fingers".

"Oh, touchy, touchy," the old hag cackled, but obediently traipsed off to harass one of the other patrons.

Jareth let out a long breath, and massaged the bridge of his nose with two fingers.  
"Where were we?"

"We were discussing your reasons for leaving the Underground. Well, I daresay it must be bad if you prefer _this_ over it," she stated.

"You have no idea," he grumbled, "considering what some fae women get up to, that was positively cute."

"Oh?"  
There was a mental picture in dire need for some brain bleach if there ever was one, but if it was causing him embarrassment to talk about it, who was she not to show some interest? 

* * *

**Jareth and Sarah don't belong to me - they are only forced to participate in this ludicrous story because obviously nobody has ever bothered to look into the rights of fictive characters.**

 **Unlike Matchmakers and Mandy's Diner, the Go in Bar actually exists (I won't say where, but pm me if you feel tempted, and I can give you the exact coordinates), and I am afraid to say that my description is not exaggerated much - not on a bad day anway.**  
 **Any resemblance to a living** **people is purely intentional therefore since it's not very likely that any of them will ever come across this story.**

 **And yes, before you ask, I have been known to haunt it occasionally - for the good beer and music of course.**


End file.
